The clock has stopped moving;
My skin has begun bruising.
I do not wish to live on,
but mother insists.
I have gotten used to her red eyes
and tear-stained cheeks.
Her body has begun giving out,
she is not taking care of herself.
She is far too busy watching,
far too busy waiting.
I am her priority,
although she should begin to let go.
I cannot stay this way.
Our eyes catch contact
all I can see is pain.
Her hand grazes my bare scalp
and she inhales a shaking breath,
"I love you, darling. Don't leave me just yet."

--amm

laid bare before you but not by your own hands
as naked now as the night i joined my soul to hers or more
i am clothed
and yet inexplicably driven to connect to you
i lay open the wounds that still gape with
holes perfect to press fingertips open into, perfect to re open
no sugar, no sweetness in my voice, no manipulation, my words barely even my choice,
choked out, almost choked out, but surviving
to make it through my throat and past my lips
teasing my eyes to tears i can barely breathe through
i am see through
and
you don't even know if i am worth getting to know
but somehow, someway i will show
you the truth
i am as worth getting to know s you.
that this nakedness is not my way of trying to get you naked
it is no ploy to gain power over your scattered, shattered heart

Some nights I’m not filled with words,
I’m just filled with so much of you.
You’re making more space in this ribcage;
it was always saving a spot
for your heart anyways.
You give the moon light to reflect,
and I swear the stars would fall for you tonight.

It's so late again.
That time where thoughts won't lie still.
I won't ask you to tell me.
I'm not sure I'd even know the answer myself.
I think though, that I've waited long enough.
For myself.
Being a spontaneous person that's an achievement.
But I like to think it's worth it.
The waiting.
The patience.
Not sure if it's a lesson yet learned.
But the reason why.
That's what haunts me.
Why.
I'd just like to know.
I can't ask you though.
I'm not sure you could answer if you tried.
Maybe it wouldn't be fair to you.
But what's fair to me?
Keeping distance because you don't want inflict pain.
Or fear maybe.
Pretending was never a skill I excelled with.
I think I'd just like to start on the first page is all.
Take that step forward into new.
Am I asking too much?
I promise you what I have to give would be so much more.
Or should I give up?
Let be and walk away.
Take a chance that you'd come find me when you're ready.
I'm just stuck here.
Stuck with thoughts.
Like thoughts of what could be.
But what do I know?
It's not as if I'd ask you.
Cause it's my heart you could break.


*©NDHK

To the boys who never loved me,
but pretended they did,
if only for a night.
To the boys who never loved me,
and used my body as a surrogate for the voids in their heart
left by others
or by themselves,
I am sorry.

To the boys who never loved me,
but our nights of passion left memories so sweet,
not in your heart or in the palm of your hand
but right on the tip of your ****
where you remember the way it felt
with your fingers in my hair
and my breath on your thigh.
I am sorry.

To the boys who never loved me,
but claimed they did
or told me lies
to get beneath my fabric,
where disappointed they found,
that I was not the long term answer to their insecurities,
only a nighttime siren,
plagued with sadness
that made you slowly back away
when you got deeper than skin,
I am sorry.

To the boys who never loved me,
I am sorry.
I am sorry that I could not be her,
the one you thought you had forgotten,
I am sorry that I could not fix you,
and I'm sorry that you could not fix me.
I am sorry for the nights of *******
where we tried so hard to make love,
and instead we drowned in our own self pity,
and made resentment instead,
I am sorry.

I am sorry for the promises I broke to you,
and the promises you broke to me
all stemming from the fact that too often
we think intimacy will bring us together
when it has only ripped us apart,
I am sorry.
I am sorry you could not find yourself in me,
or that you found too much of yourself in me,
I am sorry that I was not enough,
I'm sorry for the things I have done to you,
and the things you have done to me.


To the boys who never loved me,
I am sorry.

my barricade has become a prison
4 walls that shrink every day and slowly cut off my oxygen
they worked too well i sing to them in a melancholy tone
more often heard in the mouths of whales
there's a sea of bones and they’re pricking at stray scraps
look out there, past where the sky meets the earth
if you look hard enough you’ll see it
cold and empty and sloshing it calls to me now
“leave me now” i say to the space beside me
before you go pre-heat the oven to 950
i need a warm place to rest and that sounds about right
skeletal hands grip around my expanding skin and pull me down
tight tight tight they sew me a corset of my own rough skin
teeth flood my throat and scratch at my collarbone
self-inflicted sorrow
heart disease in a can
barreling through my system, how much longer do i got, doc? 
my bones are unknitting and my brain is unraveling
pink tendrils sinking to the bottom of my skull, goodbye little ones, i never did use that much anyways
my skin peels beneath my fingers and my light won't turn out
5 am and i'm a halfway alcoholic all i need is the *****
my capillaries have frozen and i'm an ice rink now
sliced and diced and punched into shape
ready to ride over 
no words left no line gaps no punctuation 
who has time for that when they're doing nothing?
i haven't eaten in a week
and i'm still spewing everywhere
pressure points and muscle strands oozing against my frame
i can feel all my ribs beneath my hands
and the jelly will vaporize and i’ll just soften
maybe if i push hard enough the skin around them will shatter and i’ll collapse inward

well now
it appears that i’ve undone myself